


When I Watch the World Burn, All I Think About is You

by greywolfheir



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Omens, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Lots of kissing, M/M, dragon!Crowley, prince!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywolfheir/pseuds/greywolfheir
Summary: Long ago, a war between humans and fairies led the to the banishment of fairies from the world of men. Now, one of those fairies--a dragon--has been terrorizing the Engelite kingdom, and Aziraphale must go on a quest to defeat the dragon in order to claim his right to the throne, joined by his personal knight and best friend, Sir Crowley.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this years before the show was even announced so I'm basing this entirely off book canon and my headcanons at the time of writing. This is probably my first fic with this much world-building, so I hope it makes sense.

Aziraphale awoke coughing and sputtering but that hadn’t been what had woken him up.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale wheezed out when he saw his knight leaning over his bed. “What’s going on?”

“Fire,” Crowley answered shortly. “Take this and put it over your mouth.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, taking the handkerchief Crowley held out and using it to breathe through. Then Aziraphale got out of bed and followed the knight down the stairs and out of the castle. The smoke was thicker downstairs, but beyond an orange glow, they didn’t encounter the fire itself.

Crowley led him to a spot in the woods where, although Aziraphale could still smell the smoke, they could breathe normally.

“Is it another attack?” Aziraphale asked as soon as he’d taken his first breath of clear air.

Crowley nodded grimly, but there was another layer to his sober expression. Was it…anger?

“Did they find the dragon that did it? Injure it or something?”

A shake of the head this time, expression not changing.

Aziraphale frowned. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

Crowley finally glanced sidelong at Aziraphale when he’d heard the endearment but made no other move.

“These attacks are devastating but we’ll find a solution I’m sure of it. One of these days, we’ll slay the dragon.” For some odd reason this elicited a wince from the knight and Aziraphale added in a softer voice, “Please speak to me.”

Aziraphale finally caught Crowley’s eye, causing the knight to finally turn his head in the prince’s direction. Crowley closed his eyes and sighed.

“The prophecy,” Crowley finally said, “mentions a dragon taking the throne, and these attacks are becoming more frequent.” A pause. “I feel the prophecy draws near and I don’t like what that means for your safety.”

Aziraphale looked away. “Crowley—”

“Don’t tell me you’ll be fine when I know what the prophecy says,” Crowley interrupted. “The thought of losing you because some dragon has a loss for power—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again putting his hand on the knight’s shoulder, “I was going to say thank you. For saving me again.”

They locked eyes, and Crowley finally gave Aziraphale a small smile. “Of course, your Highness.”

* * *

“This is the third attack in the past week alone, your Majesty. They’re becoming more frequent. The prophecy draws near.”

Aziraphale, from his seat on the side of the court, watched his father, King Michael, run a hand over his face at Duke Gabriel’s words. _Has he not been sleeping well?_ Aziraphale was concerned at the sudden realization that his father looked haggard. Being a king took its toll, of course, but the king had always kept a pristine appearance—especially in court. Now, he had bags drooping under his eyes, it seemed as if he didn’t shave and his posture wasn’t as proper as it should have been.

“I am aware, Duke Gabriel,” King Michael said with a sigh. “However, the prophecy is not quite clear on _how_ we stop the attacks. It’s as if we’re supposed to give up the throne willingly.”

“You know that’s not true, sir,” Duke Gabriel said, with a sidelong glance at Aziraphale, who averted his gaze.

The prophecy they were referring to had been written hundreds of years ago, but the timeline of its effects started with Aziraphale’s birth. It was in an archaic language and it was a very long and complicated mess, but the general idea was known by all. At some point during Michael’s reign a member of the Fairy realm would take the throne. The prophesy implied it to be a dragon and was now being confirmed with the constant dragon attacks on the kingdom. The prophecy went on to say, however, that although the dragon would take the throne, the son of Michael would unite the Engelite bloodline and the Fairy realm for the first time in centuries.  Essentially, all would not be lost—if Aziraphale could get it together.

“Aziraphale has trained since birth for his purpose in life,” Michael said gruffly, causing Gabriel to snap back to attention. “If the prophecy deems him worthy, then he is worthy. Things are simply…looking bleak at the moment.”

Aziraphale knew his father was talking in general in the last sentence, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was directed at him. Unlike the other kingdoms of the world, the Engelite bloodline didn’t pass from firstborn to firstborn. In order to become a true Engelite ruler, a prince or princess had to prove their worth by completing a quest, showing themselves in battle, or otherwise proving themselves to be worthy of the title of king. Aziraphale happened to be the firstborn—and the only born, as his mother had died in childbirth, leaving him to bear the title of King or leave the land without a ruler. But it was clear that his strengths weren’t in battle. More inclined to read and generally keep to himself, Aziraphale was—to put it mildly—utterly disastrous at sword fighting. He wasn’t _meant_ for battle, he was _meant_ for libraries and warm cups of ale and a good book on a nice—

Aziraphale was brought out of his bitter thoughts by Crowley, who must have sensed Aziraphale’s mood and put a hand on the prince’s knee. The knight otherwise kept perfectly still, always at attention, always on guard. Aziraphale felt the corner of his lips tug upwards a little and put his hand on top of Crowley’s, giving it a quick squeeze before turning his attention back to the court.

Apparently, they’d moved on from Aziraphale’s incompetence towards the funding for the repairs of the recent attacks, rebuilding with the attacks in mind, and other various clean-up duties that had already been discussed the other hundred times there was an attack. Aziraphale simply couldn’t pay attention. He was a little distracted by Crowley’s hand, which hadn’t moved throughout the rest of the court session.

* * *

“Your Highness,” Crowley sighed from the doorway he was leaning against, “you _are_ aware training started an hour ago?”

Aziraphale looked up from his book in surprise. “Oh, I was just thinking about the prophecy, how I’m supposed to unite the realms of fairy and man.”

Crowley visibly tensed, as he did with every mention of the prophecy, but he’d never given an answer why, so Aziraphale had stopped asking years ago.

“I realized,” Aziraphale continued, “I’ve never even _seen_ a fairy before, so how am I supposed to unite our realm with something I know nothing about? So I’ve been reading about fairies.”

“Find anything then?” Crowley asked, his voice sounding strained.

Aziraphale shook his head sadly. “Well, nothing except that it seems that the faries love our realm dearly and its no wonder they were so angry at my family for forbidding them from it.”

“Right,” Crowley said, pushing himself off the wall and sauntering towards Aziraphale. He slammed the book Aziraphale was reading shut but before Aziraphale could protest, he said, “It seems to me like you’d get more useful things from training than reading.”

Aziraphale couldn’t answer. He’d wanted to, of course—after all, what was more useful than knowledge?—but those golden eyes were inches from his own and Aziraphale couldn’t think. Well, he couldn’t think of anything except how utterly beautiful Crowley was. Aziraphale just wanted to—

But Crowley was pulling away, turning to walk out of the library. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath before gathering himself and following the knight.

* * *

The training session went poorly, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Aziraphale was the worst fighter Crowley had ever encountered, which, on another day, might have been endearing. They’d just survived yet another dragon attack, however, and Crowley was losing patience with his prince.

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley snapped as Aziraphale failed—for the third time that session—to parry one of Crowley’s attacks. “Are you even trying?”

Aziraphale cradled his hand where Crowley had hit it when he’d knocked Aziraphale’s wooden sword out of his grip. “I—”

“Because it seems to me,” Crowley seethed, “that you spent all of last week reading instead of practicing the techniques I gave you. Am I wrong?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked down at the ground in shame. Crowley had to fight to not let go of his anger at the sight.

“We had a dragon attack _yesterday_ and the day before that _and_ two days before that one. Would you like to tell me who everyone is relying on to end these attacks?”

“Me,” Aziraphale answered pitifully.

“No, not _you_ ,” Crowley corrected angrily. “They are relying on a prince worthy of defeating this dragon—a prince worthy enough to take the crown and become their king. _You_ are neither of those things, and you never will be if you continue to neglect your duties.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went round with shock at Crowley’s words, and again Crowley had to fight not to give in and apologize immediately. Instead he picked up Aziraphale’s practice sword and said, “We’ll resume lessons when you start putting effort in them again.”

Without letting Aziraphale respond, Crowley turned on his heel and stalked out of the training area.

* * *

Moments later, Crowley found himself in his quarters downing a bottle of fine wine he’d stashed under his bed. He’d meant to share it with Aziraphale one quiet night, but he figured Aziraphale probably wouldn’t want to talk to him for a while and Crowley couldn’t blame him. Still, he knew he hadn’t exactly been out of line. The prophecy drew near and Aziraphale couldn’t battle a kitten let alone a dragon. Years ago, this wouldn’t have bothered Crowley—after all _he_  was meant to protect Aziraphale—but the prince would have to prove himself as a defender of his kingdom soon, and Crowley was beginning to feel as though that would never happen.

Of course, if the prophecy had anything to say about it, Aziraphale was meant to lose his throne to a dragon. Well, it didn’t say it like that exactly but everyone got the gist. How else would a dragon take the throne except through killing the Engelite bloodline? Crowley shuddered at the thought of Aziraphale dying like that, and he got up from his bed drunkenly. Aziraphale dying like that—well, Crowley couldn’t stomach it. He needed to get away from these thoughts.

There was another aspect of the prophecy Crowley couldn’t stomach, though—the dragon itself.

Before King Michael’s reign, there was a war between the fairy and the human realms. The humans somehow managed to come out on the other side victorious, leaving the fairies to be banished from human lands forever. Sometime later, the fairies had a sort of civil war, as the dragons, restless and angry at the humans, began to dissent. They were in turn banished from the fairy realm—with magic creating an impenetrable barrier. Hoping to seek refuge in the human realm, they sought the king. To their misfortune, the king still held scars from the war and banned the dragons again—this time, on the penalty of death. Trapped in the deadly human realms, dragons fled to the most remote places they could think of, but to no avail. They were all of them hunted down and slaughtered before Michael had taken the throne.

All, that is, except one.  

The survivor of the dragons could at present be seen walking the king’s garden in a drunken stumble. Crowley, having been born of both dragon and shapeshifter, was hidden by his parents in the slaughter under the guise of a human baby. He was found and brought to an orphanage, where they quickly discovered his talent with the sword and Crowley quickly discovered his true nature. Having been raised on the tales that spoke of hatred for fairies and death towards dragons, Crowley quickly learned to hide his powers from the others. It wasn’t easy, as the dragon side of him was easily triggered by anger, frustration, and other strong emotions.

Still, at age ten, Crowley had already become not only a master of the sword but a master of his powers. It was announced that the king’s son—also age ten—would now be in need of a personal knight and someone with whom he could train, and Crowley jumped at the opportunity. He battled with much older knights and swordsmen for the opportunity and his skill had not gone unnoticed. Michael, thinking a boy Aziraphale’s age would be a fine tutor, gladly accepted Crowley into the castle, sparking a close friendship between the prince and his knight.

Fifteen years later, Crowley was facing a prophecy that stated clearly that a dragon would kill the prince and take the throne or be killed in the process. As the only dragon-born left alive, Crowley was left with the reality that he would kill his best friend or die trying.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley growled as claws suddenly erupted from his fingers.

Crowley quickened his pace and tried to get himself to calm down. After all, there had to be a second dragon right? _Crowley_ wasn’t the one attacking these villages. He’d been there to defend them after all. So maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

It didn’t help.

Sharp teeth began to erupt from Crowley’s mouth now. For the first time in a long time, Crowley was losing control of his form. Because regardless of who exactly it was meant to kill the prince, the prince still died in the end. And he was more than just a prince to Crowley.

From the first day that Crowley’s heart warmed at the sight of Aziraphale, Crowley knew it was wrong, that anything more than a friendship could never happen between the two of them. That was when Crowley was fourteen, and while his mind kept everything shut away, his heart sang every second it was near the prince, saw the prince, and even thought of the prince. Crowley’s angel.

“Crowley?” The knight almost thought he’d imagined the soft voice behind him.

“Go away, Aziraphale,” Crowley growled, as growling was the closest he could get to human speech patterns mid-change. Meanwhile, Crowley was desperately praying to whoever was listening that he could revert back to his human form before Aziraphale noticed.

Aziraphale for his part just sighed and said, “Look, you have every right to be angry with me. I came here to apologize. Anyone else would have lost their patience years ago but you’ve been so kind to me.”

Aziraphale paused, either gathering his thoughts or waiting for a reply, but Crowley could no longer speak clearly through the enlarged teeth.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale continued in an even softer voice, “I’m sorry and I just wanted to thank you, my dear, for all you’ve done.”

Crowley wasn’t sure if it was his effort finally paying off or simply hearing the term of endearment, but his claws and teeth rather suddenly retracted. But it was too late—Aziraphale had already turned and left. Besides, what could Crowley say to that?

Still, as Crowley drifted off to sleep, the words “my dear” in that softest of tones echoed through Crowley’s head.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Duke Gabriel called the court in session. Aziraphale sat with Crowley off to the side even though, once again, the discussion was all about him. It was more discussion of the prophecy but this time was different.

“There is a sorceress,” Duke Gabriel began, “who lives in the Dark Wood. She is old—old enough to know the time when the Fae and humans lived together. I believe she may have an answer to our dragon problem.”

“But Duke Gabriel,” Michael said, “the Dark Wood is a miles long journey through some of the most dangerous parts of out lands. It would take weeks to leave and return. We cannot spare our knights when there may be another attack at any moment.”

Duke Gabriel shook his head. “We don’t need knights. Don’t you see? This is a quest. A quest made for our prince.”

Every member of the court looked in Aziraphale’s direction, whispered murmurings echoing throughout the chamber.

Michael shook his head. “Alone? He is not—”

“Not capable?” Duke Gabriel asked. Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn.

“He is not ready,” Michael said coolly. “This is a mission for a squadron of knights, not one person.”

“All the more reason to show his worth,” Duke Gabriel insisted.

“I will not send my son on a suicide mission,” Michael said. “That’s the end of—”

“I will go.”

More murmurs but this time everyone was staring at Crowley, who had stood up when he spoke. When there was no real response from anyone, Crowley continued.

“You say you need a squadron of knights, but we all know that I have strength equal to that. I will assist Aziraphale as needed but this will be his quest.”

“Sir Crowley,” Michael said, “you bring up good points. Duke Gabriel, I believe this may be the compromise we need.”

“Indeed,” Duke Gabriel said, though he didn’t seem pleased. “They should prepare to leave within the week.”

* * *

Crowley walked the grounds after the court session. He and Aziraphale hadn’t spoken since last night and Crowley wasn’t sure what to do about that. Sure, perhaps he should have mentioned something about Aziraphale’s apology, but what could he say? Besides, hadn’t he proved that he’d gotten over his anger just by offering to go on this quest with him? The quest alone should have gotten Aziraphale talking again, after all. But when the court session had ended, Aziraphale had simply walked away without a word.

Suddenly Crowley heard hoofbeats behind him and he tensed significantly. Horses had a tendency to do rude things when they neared him. But just as Crowley was turning around, he realized the horse had stopped just before it could get within kicking distance.

Crowley couldn’t make out whoever was riding the horse at first due to the sunlight in his eyes. But then, as if in a dream, the horse made the slightest movement and the sunlight was now shining perfectly on Aziraphale’s face. His golden curls shone like a halo around his face. He’d never been more beautiful.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed with more than a little surprise. “I—er, well, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Crowley barely restrained a sigh. So that was the problem, after all. Aziraphale still thought he was angry.

“Not allowed to walk around the castle am I?” Crowley joked, immediately regretting it.

“Oh, no!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his eyes going wide “I only meant—”

Crowley held up a hand. “It was a joke, Aziraphale. Can we talk?”

Aziraphle cleared his throat. “Of course.”

They walked to the stables, allowing Crolwey some time to think up what he was going to say.

“Listen,” he began when the horse was safely put away, “about yesterday—”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a nervous chuckle, “After all, didn’t you hear me last night? I forgive you.”

Crowley shook his head. “That’s not what I—angel, listen, I only said what I did because I was worried about you. If you get hurt because of something I could have trained you for, I’d never forgive myself. But I shouldn’t have taken things out on you. And I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale had been silent while Crowley was talking and when Crowley finally looked in the prince’s direction, he found him looking at Crowley, eyes wide with emotion. Finally, he said, “I didn’t realize you felt that way, Crowley.”

Crowley immediately wanted to backtrack. “Of course I do, your Highness. I’m your knight after all.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, only shook his head and smiled. Still, Crowley felt that he’d fixed things between them somehow.

* * *

They left for their quest early in the morning two days later. It would take a week and a half for them to reach the sorceress in the Dark Wood, a three-week trip in all if things went according to plan. Aziraphale hoped desperately that they would.

To say that he was nervous about this quest was an understatement. He tried not to show this to anyone—not even Crowley, his dearest friend. Sure, they’d fixed things between them but Aziraphale couldn’t help but hear Crowely’s harsh words echoing through his mind every other moment. At Aziraphale’s request, they’d trained all day yesterday, but at the end of it, Aziraphale knew he fell short of where he needed to be. Still, as they mounted their horses and waved goodbye to the well-wishers, Aziraphale pasted a brave smile on his face, as they rode off into the dawn horizon.

One thing Aziraphale could say was good at, though, was horseback riding. He certainly did it better than Crowley, who absolutely hated horses. This made the first leg of their journey at the very least manageable, which calmed Aziraphale. He could almost pretend they were simply out on an early morning ride.

The ride itself was uneventful. They managed to ride further than expected but eventually let their horses rest just as the sun was setting. Aziraphale took care of the horses while Crowley went about setting up the camp. Aziraphale finished and came back to find one tent up with Crowley now trying to light a fire.

“Shall I help set up the second tent?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked up. “Oh there isn’t a second tent.”

Aziraphale cocked his head in confusion. “Not a second tent? But—I mean—how will we sleep?”

Crowley was already looking back down at the flint in his hands. “It’s big enough for two.”

Suddenly Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat and he refused to admit why that was. “Oh, I see.”

Crowley looked up again and grinned. “I don’t think I snore if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh no, no, it’s fine, I just hadn’t realized…” _that I’d spend every night in close proximity to you_ , his brain finished for him. He shook the thought away.

Crowley, for his part, was too focused on the fire—which he finally set—to notice Aziraphale’s distress. “I don’t know about you, Aziraphale but I am _starving_.”

* * *

That night, Aziraphale found it difficult to sleep. Not only was it his first night sleeping somewhere other than his bed, but he could practically _smell_ Crowley’s scent they were so close. The tent was indeed big enough for two—barely. It must have been the middle of the night when Aziraphale found himself staring at the back of Crowley’s head. The raven colored hair looked so soft in the sliver of moonlight peeking through the tent flap. Aziraphale resisted a strong urge to run his hand through it.

Aziraphale didn’t know why he felt such an attraction to Crowley. They’d grown up together, practically been brothers. But it was around the time Aziraphale turned fifteen that he’d started to notice Crowley in…other ways. The way his muscles glistened after a particularly long sword-fighting lesson. The way his bright golden eyes contrasted nicely with his dark skin and high cheekbones. And more, so much more. He could barely look at Crowley without his heart racing. Now here he was, inches from that same man, and Aziraphale could barely stand it. He felt like he was on fire.

But of course, it could never be. Aziraphale was the next in line for the throne, after all, and Crowley was only an orphan. A knight yes, but that didn’t matter. Aziraphale was meant to marry for politics. Whatever match worked best for the kingdom. And Crowley simply fell short. Not in Aziraphale’s eyes, of course, but in the eyes of everyone else in the kingdom.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Aziraphale forced himself to turn around and go to sleep.

* * *

After their long ride the day before, they decided to stop halfway through the day the next day, and Crowley suggested they practice fighting. They’d only brought real swords, of course, but they found sticks in roughly the correct shape. Aziraphale fought as hard as he could but Crowley bested him every time. Still, though, there’d been slight improvement and Crowley noticed.

“Good job today Aziraphale,” Crowley panted as they settled down to rest. “It’s almost like you’re trying.”

“Oh, shut up,” Aziraphale chuckled. His heart leapt at the sight of Crowley’s returning grin, eyes bright with glee. He forced himself not to look down at Crowley’s sweating form.

The next night was better, now that Aziraphale knew what he was in for.

* * *

The next few days were similar. They would spend a full day riding, then a half day resting. By the fifth day, they were deep in the Dark Woods. That night, Crowley suggested keeping watch.

“These woods can be dangerous, angel,” he’d said. “I’d feel better knowing we had someone keeping an eye out.”

“Then we’ll take turns,” Aziraphale had offered. “You need your sleep, my dear.”

Crowley agreed, but when Aziraphale woke the next day, he found that it was dawn and Crowley hadn’t woken him all night.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished. “You’ll fall asleep on your horse.”

“You can keep watch tonight,” was all Crowley said in response. The woods seemed to make him tense for some reason, though Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. There was an odd feeling to them, like something could be lurking around every corner.

* * *

It was the next night before they were attacked.

Crowley had been on watch that night, thankfully, when he’d heard them. It had only been a snap of a twig but Crowley knew—bandits. He didn’t take out his sword immediately—he didn’t want to give away the fact that he knew they were there. Instead he turned casually to face their direction. They paused briefly but they didn’t think Crowley had spotted them yet, so they continued to sneak towards the horses.

When they were close enough to touch the horses, Crowley loudly called out, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

All the bandits—there were three of them, Crowley could see—jumped before rapidly pulling out their weapons. Crowley pulled out his own.

“If you run now, there’s no need for us to get violent,” Crowley said calmly.

The bandits sneered, as he knew they would. After all, it was three against one. They advanced towards him. Crowley sighed. He really hoped this wouldn’t wake Aziraphale.

Crowley took them all out easily. They were amateurs, it seemed, and Crowley had fought against trained knights since before his tenth birthday. He didn’t kill them, of course, simply wounded them enough that they all fell to the ground. It was then that Aziraphale came out of the tent.

“Crowley? I thought I heard voices,” he said sleepily. The bandits were in the shadow, out of Aziraphale’s line of sight.

“Just mine, your Highness. Trying to keep myself awake,” Crowley said soothingly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked. “I could take over for you.”

“That’s alright, angel,” Crowley almost laughed. Aziraphale seemed far to tired to keep watch. “Only a few more hours to go. Get some rest and you’ll keep watch tomorrow.”

Aziraphale nodded and went back into the tent.

Crowley stalked over to where the fallen bandits lay and whispered, “If I see you try to steal from me again, you’ll have worse fates than this. Now go.”

Without a word, the bandits ran off into the night.

* * *

It was on the eight night—Aziraphale’s turn—when they were attacked again. Crowley had been asleep, of course, when he’d suddenly heard yelling.

Crowley shot up out of his bedroll just as he’d heard Aziraphale’s anguished cry of “Crowley!”

What he found was a disaster. Their things were scattered everywhere, Aziraphale was desperately hacking away at a bandit with his sword, and he was being surrounded on all sides by three more. Crowley acted quickly. Picking up his own sword, he charged towards the three bandits advancing on Aziraphale, managing to get them all down but not before he heard a scream from his prince. Turning quickly, Crowley launched towards the fourth bandit. He had barely gotten a few blows in, however, before the man had simply sprinted away.

Crowley glanced behind him and realized the other three had gone as well. Not giving them another thought, he turned toward Aziraphale.

“Angel, are you alright?” He asked. It was then that he saw the blood it was running down the prince’s arm from his bicep where the bandit had apparently gotten a hit in. “Hold on.”

Crowley quickly rummaged through the mess that had become their things before he found a tunic suitable for his needs. He had Aziraphale take off his tunic. The wound looked deeper than he would have liked but not awful.

Crolwey grabbed one of their wineskins of water and poured it on the wound. Aziraphale hissed, and it was then that Crowley realized the prince was turning his face away from Crowley.

“You fought well, Aziraphale,” Crowley said gently.

Aziraphale only shook his head.

“You would have worse wounds than this had you fought poorly.”

“It’s not that—I…” Aziraphale’s voice quavered and he snapped his mouth shut.

Crowley finished tying up the wound with cloth. When it was clear Aziraphale wasn’t going to speak again, Crolwey gently turned the prince’s face toward him. There were tears streaking down Aziraphale’s cheeks and he wouldn’t meet Crolwey’s eyes.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, “what’s wrong?”

The tears fell faster and Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I was asleep, Crowley.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow but Aziraphale didn’t see it.

“I was asleep when they got here, that’s why our things are scattered about. I didn’t realize they were here except that I happened to wake up. I—I—” Aziraphale couldn’t finish, instead he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Crowley whispered, pulling Aziraphale close, “it’s alright. You woke up and defended the camp, and they didn’t run off with anything. It’s alright angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer and he didn’t have to. Crowley held him tight, running a hand through Aziraphale’s curls until the sobbing calmed down.

“I’ll keep watch the rest of the night,” Crowley said when Aziraphale had pulled back to wipe at his eyes. He nodded miserably, helped Crowley clean up the mess, and went into the tent without a word.

Crowley watched him go. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he never wanted Aziraphale to feel that way ever again.

* * *

“I’m not going to be king.”

Crowley tore his eyes away from the campfire and met Aziraphale’s eyes. They’d just finished eating their rations for the night. “What?”

Aziraphale heaved a sigh. “You’ve seen how miserable I am on this quest. I fell asleep when I was supposed to be on watch—the simplest thing, and I mucked it up.”

“Aziraphale, you were just tired,” Crowley argued. “It’s been a long week.”

“No,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “I’m just useless.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley said sharply.

“But it’s true!” Aziraphale cried.  “I’m utterly worthless.”

Crowley knew tears were coming soon, and he refused to let his prince cry—especially not over this. He grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and turned it so that Aziraphale was forced to look at him.

“Aziraphale, don’t _ever_ say that again,” he growled. “Being a king isn’t just about battles and quests. It’s also about politics and connecting to your people, and no one is better suited to that than you. You’re the one who wants to reunite the fairy and human realms again because _you_ want to, not just because of some prophesy. _That_ is a king I can trust to rule with justice and compassion.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly at Crowley’s sudden ferocity. Crowley realizing maybe he’d gone a bit too far, slowly dropped his hand. Before he could move away, however, Aziraphale put a hand on his knee.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he whispered.

Crowley cleared his throat, “Right, anyway, I should go to—”

But now Aziraphale was pulling Crowley’s face toward his own. Aziraphale’s touch was gentle though, his hands so soft that Crolwey felt if he’d reached up and touched them with his own calloused hands, he would tear the skin.

“Please don’t leave,” Aziraphe said in that soft tone that always made Crowley weak. The words hung in the air heavily between them, meaning so much more than Crowley could hope for. Suddenly, he realized how close they were—how he could feel Aziraphale’s breath ghost across his cheek. He wanted to close that gap between their lips, to taste Aziraphale, to tell him yes, he’d never even _think_ of leaving Aziraphale’s side for the rest of their lives.

But Aziraphale didn’t know— _could never know_ —about Crowley’s secret. He’d never look at Crowley like this if he knew. So Crowley took Aziraphale’s wrist gently. Voice gruff with emotion he could never reveal, Crowley said simply. “Your father would never approve, your Highness.”

Instead of moving away, Aziraphale lifted his head high and said, “My father doesn’t rule my every action.”

Crowley felt like if he gazed any longer into Aziraphale’s blue eyes, he would begin to drown in them. Yet still he managed to gasp out. “He’s your king.”

“And yet you are the one I love, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley lost all willpower then. Surging forward, he let one hand get tangled in Aziraphale’s curls, the other curving around his waist. Aziraphale, surprised by the sudden action, simply grasped at Crowley’s shirt front.

Aziraphale’s lips tasted sweeter than Crowley could have imagined, his hair was softer than the finest of down, and Crowley had never felt more satisfied in his life. A part of him—the part that was telling him that _this_ and nothing else in the world mattered—was furious that he’d had so many chances to do this before and he’d never taken them earlier. Aziraphale sighed into the kiss and Crowley shivered, melting into the prince until they were practically on top of each other.

But eventually the other part of Crowley kicked in. Reminding him again of the prophecy, what would happen when Aziraphale realized the truth. He pulled away just as quickly as he’d moved forward. He stood up before Aziraphale had even opened his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said hoarsely, and turned towards the tent. He heard Aziraphale call after him but didn’t stick around to listen.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Crowley was oddly silent. Well, it wasn’t entirely odd, due to the events of last night. Still, Aziraphale had never experienced Crowley being so quiet. It was excusable, of course, and Aziraphale wanted to give him space.

When they were on the road, Aziraphale tried to start a conversation but Crowley simply sped his horse away, and that was the last straw for the prince.

That night, as they ate their meager dinner, Aziraphale finally spoke up. “This is utterly ridiculous, Crowley.”

Crowley, predictably, didn’t reply.

“I’ve loved you for years now, and you obviously feel the same. You’re my _knight_. There may be better political matches for me, but it shouldn’t take too much convincing for my father to approve.”

Crowley clenched his jaw but made no other move to respond.

Aziraphale threw up his hands. “So this is it, then? We complete the rest of the quest in silence?”

Nothing.

Aziraphale let out a guttural sound of frustration and stood to enter the tent. He’d just gotten to the tent when Crowley finally spoke.

“On the off chance that your father _did_ approve, that he _didn’t_ already have a bride ready to marry you off to,” Crowley began, “I am your knight. I’m meant to protect you. If we were to be together, I couldn’t do that. I would be your weakness and you would be mine. Enemies would use that against us and we would be vulnerable. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt because of me.”

Aziraphale let his shoulders sag. He knew Crolwey had a point.

“Now,” Crowley continued, “knowing that, if we could pretend that last night never happened and we can focus on this quest, _then_ we can talk.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He still wanted to argue, but he didn’t like Crowley’s silence, so, without turning around, he nodded and entered the tent.

* * *

The next morning passed in relative peace. The two managed to have normal conversation, though it was a bit strained. Still, they had reached their destination, and that gave them a successful distraction. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice, however, that Crowley seemed more tense the closer they were to their destination.

When they finally reached their destination, Crowley looked more tense than ever. It was like he was nervous.

“Something wrong, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Don’t like witches,” Crowley muttered in response.

That seemed good enough, but Aziraphale knew that this woman had information about the fairy realm. They needed her.

Her cottage was certainly unique. Hanging from the roof of her blue house were various bobs and bits, some of which were beautiful—others looked suspiciously like bone. Dotted throughout an otherwise immaculate garden were cats, sleeping the day away. When they reached the gate, one of the cats—a bright orange tabby—opened an eye, stretched, and trotted to the door. Before Crowley had put his hand on the gate, a woman came through the front door. She was plump, and from her head flowed fiery red hair.

“Prince Aziraphale,” she said with a smile.

“Madame Ximena,” Aziraphale said, returning her smile. “I wasn’t aware you knew of our arrival.”

The sorceress chuckled. “I know of everything, my lord.”

Aziraphale barely noticed as her eyes flicked to Crowley and back. He certainly didn’t notice Crowley glare at her.

“We seem to be in need of that skill, madam,” Aziraphale said cordially. “I’m sure you know of the attacks on the citadel?”

“Of course my lord.” Ximena’s eyes flickered to Crowley again. “And I know of the prophecy my ancestor spoke many years ago.”

“Good, then you know that it is my duty to slay the dragon attacking our city,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “We have reason to believe you know the best means of accomplishing this.”

The witch grinned. “Of course, my lord. Follow me.”

She exited the gate and led them around the back of her house, back into the forest.

“Are you sure we can even trust her?” Crowley whispered. “If she leads us in the wrong direction we wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

“My father and Duke Gabriel wouldn’t have sent us on this quest if they didn’t think she was trustworthy,” Azirahphale whispered back.

They reached a large clearing in the woods, where they found a stone circle. There were various trinkets in the trees surrounding the circle, which Aziraphale thought looked very nice.

“Now,” the sorceress began, “we will all stand in the circle while I begin the spell. Once the spell is started, you _cannot_ leave it until the spell is complete. Understand?”

Aziraphale and Crowley nodded.

The sorceress looked satisfied. She closed her eyes and started chanting in a strange language. After a moment, the wind picked up, and Aziraphale shivered at the sudden cold. The shadows of the trees seemed to be getting longer.

Suddenly, the sorceress stopped speaking and opened her eyes, which had taken on a drastic change. They were completely black except for pinpricks of light that beamed out of them not unlike stars.

“Er, what exactly does this spell… _do_ , exactly?” Aziraphale asked her nervously.

“I’m revealing our true forms,” the woman said simply.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to make of that answer. He was human, after all. Did he have a true form?

Just then, Crowley spat out, “Damn you, witch!”

Startled, Aziraphale looked over to see Crowley, whose eyes had gone wide with a fear Aziraphale had never seen in the knight before.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped “There’s no need to—”

He was interrupted, however, when Crowley suddenly stepped forward and crashed his lips against Aziraphale’s. This kiss was far different from their first, messy and filled with some sort of desperation. Aziraphale tried to enjoy it, he really did, but he didn’t understand what was going on. He pulled away.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered with the same desperation that had been in the kiss.

“Crowley what on Earth—?” But Aziraphale was interrupted again by a sharp pain—blinding, searing pain—across his shoulder blades. He screamed and dropped to the ground.

By the time Crowley had dropped beside him, the pain had already gone but there was an odd weight to Aziraphale’s back. When he looked up, the prince found Crowley looking up, yellow eyes wide, mouth agape.

“You’ve got wings,” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale turned and looked over his shoulder. Indeed, there were large, white feathered wings floating behind him. He looked back at Crowley gleefully. “I’ve got wings!” He looked over at the sorceress. “What do they mean?”

“They’re your true form, a symbol of your bloodline. Every legitimate heir to the Engelite throne bears the wings of an angel,” she answered helpfully. Her eyes still looked like the night sky, which added an eerie touch, however.

“Well, that’s wonderfully reassuring,” Aziraphale said happily. Then he frowned. “But I’m not sure how that’s possible since I haven’t completed the quest yet. How exactly is this spell going to help me?”

“It’s not over yet,” the sorceress assured him. “Those who know how to hid their true form take longest to reveal it.”

Aziraphale, connecting the dots, looked to Crowley, who had suddenly turned his back to Aziraphale.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh a little, “I’m sure whatever your true form is, there’s no need to be so embarrassed about it.”

Crolwey didn’t answer, but Aziraphale noticed red scales begin to make their way up Crowley’s neck. Aziraphale put a suddenly shaking hand on Crowley’s shoulder. The knight let himself be turned around, and Aziraphale found that Crowley had been hiding large claws where his fingers had been. And then Aziraphale realized Crowley was beginning to get larger. Aziraphale backed away when they met eyes and he saw the terrified yet furious expression on Crowley’s face.

“Ensure you don’t leave the circle, your Highness,” the sorceress called out.

She needn’t have worried. Crowley had sprouted his own wings. They weren’t feathery like Aziraphale’s, instead covered in a bat-like membrane, dark red in color. Aziraphale didn’t need to see the rest of the transformation—he knew what he was seeing.

“I believe you were looking for a dragon, your Highness,” the sorceress said. “There is only one in the land, and you’re looking at him.”

“No,” Aziraphale whispered hoarsely as the dragon stood, fully formed, in front of him. It wasn’t possible. Crowley _couldn’t_ be the dragon he was looking for. This beast before him was just a symbol. _Just a symbol_. “This—this is a trick.”

“You can change yourself back now,” the sorceress said to the dragon. Slowly, the dragon shrunk in size and began transforming until he was back in his usual (familiar, oh so familiar) form.

“Aziraphale, I didn’t want—” Crowley began.

“Reverse this spell so we can leave the circle,” Aziraphale demanded, avoiding Crowley’s eyes.

The sorceress began chanting again. The wind picked up again but when Aziraphale shivered this time, it wasn’t from the cold. The wings left him without pain and the sorceress’s eyes changed back to their usual color. As soon as the spell ended, Aziraphale sprinted out of the circle, ignoring Crowley’s shouts behind him.

When Aziraphale felt like his lungs were going to burst, he stopped and leaned against a large tree. That’s when the tears started. Sobbing, Aziraphale slumped down to the ground. He couldn’t believe he’d let Crowley betray him like that, so easily. All this time he’d been looking for the dragon and it had been with him _the entire time_.

After a moment, Aziraphale felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Then he heard a voice he would recognize anywhere—a voice he didn’t want to hear at the moment. “Aziraphale, I’m truly sorry.”

Aziraphale straightened. He shoved Crowley away, scrambled to his feet, and pulled out his sword. “Stay away from me, beast!”

“Aziraphale, don’t be like this, please,” Crowley begged. “I swear I was going to tell you—“

“Going to tell me?” Aziraphale scoffed. “When, pray tell would that be? After we paraded around the forest forever? Or was this all a plot to get me alone so you could kill me and say it was an accident?”

“I would never hurt you!” Crowley exclaimed, genuine hurt creeping into his tone.

 “Hundreds of people died in those fires, Crowley, _hundreds_.”

“That wasn’t _me_ , Aziraphale—”

“Oh it was the _other_ fire-breathing dragon,” Aziraphale spat. “You heard that woman—you are the only dragon in this land.” He swallowed and added in a lower voice. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.”

Crowley laughed bitterly. “Kill me? You’ve never killed anything in your life, angel.”

At the term of endearment—the thing that used to make his heart race with pleasure—Aziraphale lost control. He swung out violently, but he was stopped mid-swing by Crowley’s own blade, which Aziraphale hadn’t even seen him take out. Not to be deterred now that he’d let his anger go, Aziraphale simply tried again, and again he was blocked. Aziraphale tried multiple times more, but Crowley had taught him everything he knew and parried easily until Aziraphale realized he was just hacking away at Crowley’s sword and Crowley was letting him.

“Fight back, you _bastard!_ ” Aziraphale screamed. He lunged forward in a desperate attempt to land a blow but Crowley knocked the sword out of his hand. Crowley then surged forward until he pinned Aziraphale against a tree with an arm across his chest.

“Listen, your highness,” Crowley hissed. Their faces were inches apart, giving Aziraphale a close-up of the rage and the hurt in Crowley’s eyes. “I understand that you hate me now, so let’s make a deal. I’ll leave for my homeland, never to see the land of men again. You, meanwhile can high-tail it back to the castle. Tell your daddy the valiant story of how you took down the ferocious beast, and then we’ll all end up happy, eh?”

“Shall I tell him his best knight died running away like a coward?” Aziraphale spat, squirming under Crowley’s grip. He’d never seen Crowley like this and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t terrify him.

“The story has to be believable, your Highness,” Crowley answered with a smirk. “Do we have a deal?”

“Let you free so you can murder more innocent villagers? No, we don’t,” Aziraphale said, squirming to get out of Crowley’s grip.

Crowley slammed his arm down harder on Aziraphale’s chest. “How many times do I have to tell you _I didn’t do that_? Just take the damn deal and we can be done with each other.”

Suddenly, Aziraphale remembered the wild kiss and the declaration of love from Crowley just before they’d revealed their true forms. Was Crowley telling the truth? No, no of course not. Crowley had simply been seducing him in his ploy to take the throne.

When Aziraphale didn’t answer, Crowley simply shoved himself away and began stalking away. Over his shoulder he said, “You can hunt me down, if that makes you feel better. I’ll just be getting as far away from you as possible.”

And then, without even a goodbye, Crowley was gone. It hurt Aziraphale more than it should have.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley didn’t really think about where he was going. He was generally headed towards the entrance to the fairy realm, but there wasn’t really any enthusiasm in it and it was taking him longer than it should have. He’d left everything with Aziraphale. The two horses would allow the prince to get back to the castle faster, anyway, and Crowley hunted for food.

 Aziraphale…. It had been three days and Crowley’s gut still clenched painfully at the thought of the prince. The kindest, most beautiful person Crowley had ever met, and Crowley had thrown it all away. Maybe if he’d just told the prince the truth in the first place—Crowley shook his head. No, he’d seen the look of disgust in Aziraphale’s eyes. The prince would never have fallen in love with him if he’d known.

Crowley groaned. He was so _stupid_ , trying to kiss Aziraphale before the spell took hold—hoping that _just maybe_ Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. That maybe he would understand. No, actually, the _really_ stupid part was falling in love with the prince in the first place.

“ _Crowley_.” The knight nearly jumped out of his skin when the voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Who’s there?” Crowley called out.

“ _I am the one known as Hastur,”_ the voice replied. It was close, but as Crowley turned a full circle, he saw no one. Furthermore, Crowley realized it wasn’t speaking a human tongue. Rather, it sounded like gravelly notes that Crowley’s mind was translating automatically.

“Where are you?” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Crowley jumped again at the sudden appearance of a large black creature towering off to his left side. No, not just any creature—a _dragon_.

“ _You’re a hard man to get alone, Crowley,”_ Hastur growled.

“How do you know my name?”

“ _I’ve been watching over you Crowley._ ”

“Er, alright then. And I’ve never heard of you before because…?”

“ _There are many ways we dragon born have had to hide from fairy and man,”_ Hastur replied. “ _I was lucky enough to know a cloaking spell that left me undetectable.”_

“And you suddenly became detectable to me then? How, erm, nice of you.”

“ _It was not nice. We need to talk_.”

“Right, well, go ahead and talk.”

Hastur took a long, slow breath. When he let it out, smoke curled from his nostrils. “ _The prophecy draws near. The Engelite prince must be dethroned by a dragon. We can join together and achieve this before he becomes king._ ”

Crowley’s eyes widened as he took in this information. “You want me to—er, that is—look, I’m not _killing_ —”

“ _You have grown soft in the company of humans, Crowley. That must soon change. The prophecy demands it.”_

Crowley took a moment to think, and then something dawned on him.

“Hold on,” he exclaimed, “you’re the one that’s been flying around setting villages on fire aren’t you?”

Hastur nodded, an odd gesture with the dragon’s long, snaking neck.

“But…why?” Crowley said.

Hastur’s eyes—yellow, like Crowley’s—narrowed. “ _The humans cast us out, left us to be exiled between both worlds. They deserve to be punished._ ”

“Oh, right, that.” Crowley paused. “You understand, though, that setting fires to villages only makes them hate you more? It’s not helping anything, that’s for certain.”

Hastur shook his head in disappointment. “ _I thought you would be an asset to rule by my side. It is clear to me now that you’ve been corrupted by humans. Very well, I shall conquer the human realm on my own.”_

“Now hold on a moment—” Crowley began, but Hastur had already spread his large black wings and begun to take flight.

Crowley’s thoughts began to race. Hastur was about to destroy everything—no, that wasn’t right, he was about to _kill_ Aziraphale before the prince could become king. Crowley had to get back to the castle, and he wouldn’t get there on time by foot. Rapidly, he began his transformation into a dragon, and flew off to follow Hastur.

* * *

Aziraphale had ridden the horses hard, letting his anger at Crowley rule his actions. He ended up back at the castle in half the time it should have at their old pace. There was a deep sadness in him as well as the anger, but Aziraphale refused to acknowledge it. He couldn’t think of all the good times he’d shared with Crowley, not even to mourn them. He simply acknowledged the anger—anger at himself for trusting the knight, anger at the prophecy for not revealing this betrayal, and general anger at the world.

When Aziraphale arrived back at the castle, everyone was surprised to see him, especially without Crowley. He ignored them all, heading directly for his father’s chambers.

“Aziraphale!” Michael exclaimed happily when he saw his son. “You’re back early. I hope the quest went well?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath but words failed him.

“My son, what’s wrong?” Michael asked with more than a little concern. Maybe it was that tone, maybe it was the daunting task of what he’d have to explain, or maybe it was something else—whatever it was, Azirapahle simply crossed to the room to embrace his father, sobbing into the king’s chest.

* * *

It was night when Crowley landed near the castle, which was fortunate, as it allowed him to transform back without anyone seeing him. Now was not the time for an angry mob to be chasing him. Crowley had lost sight of Hastur, but he took the fact that the castle wasn’t currently on fire as a good sign. Maybe he wasn’t too late.

He raced across the courtyard, into the castle, and up the stairs. He ignored the shouts of surprise as people began to recognize him. He didn’t stop until after he’d burst into Aziraphale’s bedroom. The prince was blessedly asleep, and Crowley allowed himself to breathe. Aziraphale must have heard him come in because he’d slowly begun to get up.

“Crowley?” he mumbled blearily.

“Aziraphale, listen, there’s no time to explain, just—”

At that moment, there was a rumbling sound, which rapidly lead to the outer wall of the castle crumbling in, causing glass and stone to shatter to the floor. Within a split second, Hastur’s enormous claws were reaching in and wrapping around Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t even have a chance to move before Aziraphale was out the window and flying into the night air.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, sprinting toward the hole Hastur had created. Without thinking, Crowley was already transforming from head to toe into his true, dragon form. Upon reaching the ledge, Crowley spread his wings and leapt into the sky.

 Fueled by rage at Hastur and fear for Aziraphale, Crowley caught up with Hastur quickly and managed to make a swipe at the larger dragon’s side. Unfortunately, as this took Hastur by surprise, the dragon lost his grip on Aziraphale, who began plummeting to the ground.

Crowley dove for the prince and managed to catch him midair. Still, he’d misjudged his grip and felt at least one of Aziraphale’s bones crack in his claws. He didn’t have time to do anything about it though, as Hastur had turned around and began heading towards Crowley.

“ _This business does not concern you, boy,_ ” Hastur shouted in gravelly dragonspeak. “ _Give me the prince._ ”

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Crowley responded. He was a little rusty on his dragonspeak. He managed to gently set Aziraphale on the ground before rushing up to meet Hastur.

The two dragons collided in a cloud of scales, claws, and fire.

* * *

Aziraphale was in pain. Well, logically, he knew he _should_ have been in pain. That crack Crowley had felt had been not one but three bones cracking—ribs, to be precise. But Aziraphale’s body must have gone into shock because, after an initial blackout due to immense pain just as Crowley had set him on the ground, Aziraphale felt nothing. Still, he didn’t move, simply watched the commotion above him.

There were streaks of black and red as the two dragons fought. Occasionally, one or the other would release a jet of hot fire, lighting up the sky. But the black dragon was so much larger and experienced in his dragon form. It didn’t take long for it to be evident that Crowley was losing. Aziraphale struggled to sit up, only a faint stab of pain in his chest reminding him of his injuries. Just as Aziraphale had managed to stand up, the black dragon dealt a nasty blow, and Crowley was plummeting to the ground.

“No!” Aziraphale shouted.

Alerted by the shout, the black dragon immediately turned and headed in Aziraphale’s direction. He didn’t get far, however, before a spear hit his chest, arresting his movement. Aziraphale looked behind him and found the king’s guard, armed with iron spears all aimed at the dragon. They’d driven off this dragon many times and Aziraphale was sure they’d do it again. Reassured of his own safety, the prince headed in Crowley’s direction.

Limping through the courtyard, Aziraphale eventually found Crowley—back in human form—lying unconscious on the ground. Aziraphale painfully dropped to the knight’s side and put a gentle hand to his chest.

“Crowley, wake up,” he said with no little desperation in his voice. He’d just noticed the blood pooling out from under Crowley’s body. Too much blood. “Please, dear, you need to wake up.”

There was a moan and then Aziraphale saw a golden slit as Crowley opened one eye.

“Angel…” Crowley moaned. But he didn’t get any further before his eye closed and he fell unconscious yet again.

“No, Crowley, stay with me, _please_ ,” Aziraphale’s voice broke on the last word and he felt a tear run down his cheek. There was a splinter of pain in Aziraphale’s ribs as he began sobbing. Every breath hurt more but he couldn’t stop himself. He heard one of the king’s guard calling his name but it was too late. Aziraphale felt himself blacking out again.


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley gasped awake, his heart racing. Last he remembered, he’d been falling out of the sky while he was in a fight with Hastur. Sitting up, Crowley realized Hastur wasn’t there—in fact, he was back in his old bedchambers, tucked safely in bed. What had happened? What had happened to Hastur? And what about—

Crolwey threw off the blankets, and tried to bolt out of bed. Instantly, he collapsed on wobbly legs. Huffing in frustration, Crowley simply tried to stand again, slower this time. He was determined to find Aziraphale—if Hastur had gotten ahold of the prince, then it was all for nothing.

 They must have heard him through the door, because at that moment, guards began bursting into the room. Crowley attempted to brush off their attempts to help him, but he must have been weaker than he’d thought because they overpowered him and gently but firmly placed him back to bed.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley managed to say, his voice hoarse. “Where’s Aziraphale?”

“You need to rest, sir,” one of the guards said firmly. Then he pointedly added, “You can worry about _his Highness_ later.”

“Fine, just tell me _his Highness_ ,” Crowley matched the guard’s tone, “is safe.”

“He’s healing faster than you,” the second guard answered.

Crowley immediately relaxed, and the guards must have seen it because they finally backed away and out of the room. Later, when they returned with provisions, Crowley had already fallen back asleep.

* * *

The next morning Crowley ate and drank the provisions he was given obediently, but as soon as the guards were out of the room, he got out of bed—slowly this time—and began to change. He’d just gotten his trousers on when the door opened to reveal Aziraphale. He was walking with a limp but otherwise didn’t seem to be in pain.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, then, noticing Crowley’s naked torso, blushed furiously and exclaimed, “Oh! I’m sorry to dist—”

“Shh! Come in and shut the door behind you,” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale did as he was told, and Crowley sighed in relief.

“They don’t like it when I’m out of bed,” he explained. Then, glancing over Aziraphale to double check that, yes, indeed the prince was relatively unharmed, he added, “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“And I, you,” Aziraphale said, his gaze lingering too long at Crowley’s chest. Crowley knew there were some still-healing wounds there, but he got the distinct impression that wasn’t what Aziraphale had been staring at. Before Crowley could say anything, however, Aziraphale shook his head and looked back up. “There’s another reason for my visit, however.”

“Oh?” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow.

Aziraphale took a step forward. “Yes I…well, I wanted to properly apologize for the things I said—”

“You don’t have to do this,” Crowley sighed.

“No, Crowley I do,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I’ve known you nearly my entire life and not once have I known you to be cruel or destructive. Nor have I had any reason at all to be scared of you. My reaction was utterly unacceptable and I—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley tried again, but this time Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge him.

“—shouldn’t have believed that wretched witch. I mean my _lord_ , the things I said to you and—”

Crowley quickly crossed the room, grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders and kissed him mid-sentence. Aziraphale went rigid but quickly relaxed, putting one hand on Crowley’s bicep to steady himself.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered when they pulled away, “I forgive you.”

“But I—” Aziraphale began but Crowley put a finger on the prince’s lips

 “You had every right to be angry, angel,” Crowley insisted. “I should be sorry for lying to you for all those years.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, more passing between them than they could put into words. Then, Crowley slowly leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale again, when he was interrupted by a knock on the door, making them both jump.

“Your Highness,” the guard said from outside the door, “Duke Gabriel would like to call a meeting of the court in an hour.”

Aziraphale sighed. “They’ll want to discuss everything now that we’re both recovered.”

Crowley agreed. He went across the room to put his shirt on before they both made their way downstairs.

* * *

This time, Aziraphale was forced to sit in his formal place in the courtroom next to his father, Crowley standing behind him, ever the protector. They usually only took these positions in matters of formality or political strategy. Today, it was because they were the center of attention.

“Sir Crowley,” Duke Gabriel was saying, “how long, exactly, have you known you were dragonborn?”

“All my life, sir,” Crowley answered stiffly. Aziraphale hated to see him in this environment. Politics of the throne were not Crowley’s strong point.

“And how long have you known about the prophecy?” Duke Gabriel continued.

“Since I could read, sir.”

“And you didn’t think to tell any of us about your potential to be the dragon in the prophecy because…?”

Crowley only paused for a moment before answering truthfully, “You would have killed me, sir.”

“Fair enough,” Duke Gabriel replied dryly. “And your parents?”

“Dead, sir.”

“Which makes that other dragon…?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“He’s not a relation?”

“No, sir. His name is Hastur. That’s all I know about him.”

“Hm. Now tell me, how did you know this Hastur would be attacking the castle two nights ago.”

“He told me he would, sir, specifically to capture and kill his royal highness.”

“Ah, yes, that reminds me. Prince Aziraphale, would you mind explaining to the court why, precisely, you returned from your quest without Sir Crowley?”

“I found out he was a dragon, your grace,” Aziraphale answered tightly. He knew where this was going.

“And to your knowledge, he was the _only_ dragon in this land, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why, then, did you not slay him as your quest demanded?”

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “Your grace, you must understand that I’ve known this man most of my life, and he has been a dear companion nearly the entire time. It would not have been a simple task.”

“And yet your duty to this kingdom  and your people is to protect us from harm.”

“I fail to see how Crow—Sir Crowley is a threat to this kingdom when he is clearly not the dragonborn doing the attacking.”

“But you were not aware of that at the time?”

“No, but it’s good I didn’t act on that alone, as it would have done absolutely nothing for this kingdom except lose one of its most valuable protectors.” Aziraphale hoped his tone sounded steely.

“Very well,” Duke Gabriel conceded. He looked to the king. “That is all, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Duke Gabriel,” Michael replied. “Now that we have valuable information at our disposal, we must be able to act on it. We have one dragonborn clearly intent on taking the throne, and another as a member of our court. We also have the king’s guard which has acted as an effective deterrent so far. Now, our goal is to do more than deter this dragon.” Michael turned to Aziraphale. “My son is destined to land the final blow and destroy him, but we must come up with a plan of action to help him take down this dragon. Does anyone have ideas?”

Thus followed a long discussion of military strategies that Aziraphale tried to pay attention to, he really did. His mind, however, was stuck on the actual _killing_ of a dragon. He’d never killed anything in his life, and if his training had anything to say about it, he never would. Beyond training, though, was he even _capable_ of murdering a creature? Even if it was one who had murdered hundreds? Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could answer that.

* * *

“You seem distant.”

“Hm? Ow!” Aziraphale was broken from his thoughts by both Crowley’s words and the painful blow the knight had dealt his arm with the wooden practice sword.

“See what I mean?” Crowley said, trying and failing not to laugh. “Even at your worst, you’ve always been able to block that kind of blow. You’re distracted.”

Aziraphale huffed in exasperation. “How could I _not_ be, Crowley? There’s a very large dragon on the loose intent on killing me, and as it turns out, I’m supposed to kill it when I’ve never killed so much as an ant.”

Crowley considered this. “Hm, I suppose you could _should_ be training with me in dragon form.”

“I’m serious, Crowley,” Aziraphale grumbled.

“So am I!” Crowley answered with bright eyes.

Aziraphale huffed again. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, but there’s something…freeing about everyone knowing a secret you’ve had all your life. Plus, your father has raised protection for you,” he added nodding to the guards surrounding the training grounds, iron spears at the ready, “so I can relax a bit.”

That made Aziraphale relax as well. He’d never seen Crowley so carefree. It was nice to see him this way. In fact, it was more than nice.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, hoping he sounded casual, “would you like to share a drink? I think I saw some very nice wines come in this morning.”

Crowley’s smile turned conspiratorial. “Of course, angel.”

* * *

Within moments, Aziraphale found himself being slammed into the side of a wine rack, Crowley’s lips colliding with his. There was a crash of shattered glass somewhere behind him but neither of them acknowledged it. Thankfully, they’d convinced the rest of Aziraphale’s guard not to follow them downstairs on the basis that no dragon could burrow underground.

“Mm, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale moaned against Crowley’s lips. Then he gasped in pleasure as the knight began to trail kisses down his neck.

“Do you know how _long_ ,” Crowley said between kisses, “I’ve wanted to do this?”

“And yet you were so stubborn about _not_ doing it dear,” Aziraphale laughed, running his fingers through that beautiful raven-colored hair.

Crowley shook his head and muttered, “Bloody mistake.”

Then he captured Aziraphale’s lips again and they stopped talking, lost in the taste of each other.

Crowley’s hands travelled down to Aziraphale’s hips, and the prince gasped again as he felt the warm hands slip under his tunic.

Not about to be outdone, Aziraphale reached for the back of Crowley’s waistband. He slid his hands into Crowley’s trousers and grasped at the firm muscle he found there. Crowley let out a very low—almost dragon-esque—growl that quickly had heat pooling below Aziraphale’s belly. In the same moment, Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s soft abdomen tightened… _too_ tightly—no it wasn’t tight, it was _piercing_.

Aziraphale pulled away rapidly, letting out a whimper of pain. Crowley backed away too, and that’s when they both saw it—blood. Lots of blood, seeping through Aziraphale’s shirt.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaimed. As he reached forward in an attempt to help, Aziraphale noticed more blood on Crowley’s hands. More, though, Crowley’s fingers weren’t fingers at all and instead were sharp black claws.


	6. Chapter 6

“Aziraphale—”

“Crowley, if you’re about to apologize for the _fourth_ time today, I don’t want to hear it,” Aziraphale interrupted. He was lying in his bed, per the healer’s orders that he not move while the wounds healed. Crowley hated seeing him in this state.

“But—“

“ _No,”_ Aziraphale insisted firmly. “I will not have you killing yourself over something like this.”

“I could have _killed_ you, Aziraphale,” Crowley argued. “Do you understand that?”

“And it still would have been an accident,” Aziraphale argued back. He reached over to touch his fingertips to Crowley’s cheek. “I trust you, my dear, and I know you would never hurt me on purpose.”

That did it. Crowley leaned in to Aziraphale’s touch and closed his eyes. He sighed. “You give me too much credit, angel.”

“I think I give just enough,” Aziraphale said softly.

Just then, the door burst open and the guard only paused for a second at the scene before him before announcing, “Your highness, it’s Hastur. He’s back.”

Crowley stood up quickly. “Where? I’ll intercept him.”

“That’s what’s odd, sir,” the guard said, “He’s at the edge of the Dark Wood, but he’s just…sitting there. Like he’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Crowley murmured. Louder, he said, “I’ll see if I can talk to him.”

The guard led the way to where Hastur was, indeed, lounging on the ground, as if the king’s guard surrounding him weren’t there at all. Crowley transformed into his full dragon body just to be safe.

Just as Crowley came into view, Hastur stood up, head held high.

“ _Well, if it isn’t the wee one himself come to say hello,_ ” he said as soon as Crowley was in earshot. “ _How have you been faring since we last met?_ ”

“ _What do you want, Hastur?_ ” Crowley growled.

Hastur grinned, revealing massive pointed teeth. “ _Why, the head of a prince, of course_.”

“ _You know that’s not going to happen_.”

“ _Your lover won’t save you, you know. Hatred for fairies is in his blood._ ”

“ _My_ lover _is proof that that’s not true. He’s destined to reunite the realms._ ”

“ _You’re a traitor to your kind_ ,” Hastur snarled suddenly. “ _Fraternizing with humans. It’s disgusting._ ”

Crowley snorted. “ _If being a traitor means I don’t kill hundreds of human lives, I’m happy to be one_.”

Hastur composed himself again. “ _Very well. I came to see once more if you would join me, but I see that it was futile.”_ He spread his dark wings. “ _I’ll be back, and next time, I’m leaving with the prince’s corpse.”_

Crowley watched as Hastur flew away and then immediately transformed back to his human form. Something about the meeting felt…off somehow.

As if on cue, a palace guard came running to Crowley, saying, “Sir, come quickly! The king’s been murdered!”

* * *

 Aziraphale’s eyes were swollen from crying and Crowley tried desperately to focus on something else— _anything_ else, but he’d never seen Aziraphale so heartbroken in all their time together. He desperately wished he could do something to fix this, but it would all be useless.

They were in Michael’s chambers, where someone had lain the king in his bed as if he were just resting. It would have worked if not for the too-pale tinge to his face and the wound just visible beneath his collar. Aziraphale was kneeling by his father’s side, holding the king’s hand and sobbing.

“Sir Crowley?” Crowley wrenched his eyes away from Aziraphale and looked to the palace guard. “Duke Gabriel wishes to speak with you.”

Crowley threw one more glance at Aziraphale, then—realizing the prince needed time alone to mourn his father, stepped into the next room where Gabriel awaited.

“These are trying times,” were Gabriel’s first words.

Crowley simply nodded.

“We’ve determined that it was a fairy that did it. There were clear signs of magic, and they must have been using Hastur’s cloaking spell, because they were undetected.”

“Hastur was just a distraction so that this could happen,” Crowley surmised. He tried not to think about what he would do if they’d killed Aziraphale instead.

The duke nodded. “What did you learn from him.”

Crowley shook his head. “Not much. He’ll likely go for the prince very soon.”

“Then we must be ready,” Gabriel sighed. “ _Aziraphale_ must be ready. He’s the last in his line.”

Crowley grimaced at the realization. If Aziraphale died, they would have to find a new royal bloodline, which would take years.

“Do you think he can do it?” Gabriel asked.

“Kill Hastur?” Crowley asked. Then he answered honestly. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter.”

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow.

“I don’t care what the prophecy says,” Crowley explained. “After this, I’ll kill Hastur myself if it comes down to it.”

“It won’t come down to that,” Crowley jumped at the voice behind him, but it was only Aziraphale. “I’ll do it.”

“Aziraphale—” Crowley began gently.

“Hastur has done enough damage to this kingdom, and I’m done watching the destruction from the side,” Aziraphale barreled on. “I want to kill him.”

Crowley’s heart swelled at the determination in his prince’s tone and he could barely bite back a smile.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll start preparations tonight.”


	7. Chapter 7

Aziraphale’s heart was racing. Hastur had been spotted by scouts flying towards the palace earlier that night and the whole place was in an uproar getting ready for battle. Aziraphale himself was putting on his armor, with Crowley’s help. As he assisted the prince, Crowley had been quizzing Aziraphale on various battle techniques and strategies. Now, as Crowley handed Aziraphale his last piece of armor, he said, “I believe in you, angel.”

Aziraphale stepped forward to kiss Crowley. It was a chaste kiss, just a press of their lips together, but he felt he needed to do it. “I love you, my dear.”

“I love you too,” Crowley whispered back. Just then, there were shouts rising up from the courtyard and Crowley added, “Hastur’s getting close. Let’s go.”

Once they were outside, Crowley began transforming and in seconds Aziraphale was walking side-by-side with a huge dragon. It made him feel just a little bit safer, somehow.

They’d just taken up position, when Hastur’s dark form appeared above the tree line. Crowley immediately took to the sky and archers took aim. For the second time in his life, Aziraphale watched as two dragons faced off in a flurry of teeth, claws, and fire. Aziraphale tightened his grip on his sword, hoping Crowley would be alright. But he needn’t have worried. Just as planned, Crowley led the larger dragon down towards the battlefield, closer to the archers and the lancers. From there, they all began to fire, and Aziraphale moved forward to where the two dragons seemed to be about to touch down.

They landed with a loud, deep thudding and Aziraphale gripped his sword more tightly to stop the shaking in his hand. He could almost forget how large the beasts were when they were up in the sky. Here, though, only a few feet in front of him their formidable size was more than a little intimidating.

Aziraphale shook his head and forced himself to focus on what the dragons were actually _doing_. After all, he was going to have to attack Hastur at some point.

That’s when he saw it. Hastur had turned to face Crowley, exposing his back to Aziraphale. There was a spear stuck just between the wings that had caused one of the scales to lift up unnaturally, exposing Hastur’s soft skin underneath. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he knew exactly what he had to do.

Praying that Hastur wouldn’t move, Aziraphale began sprinting forward. All his practice—as pathetic as it had been—had led up to this. He leapt forward, raising his sword, and stabbed it into Hastur’s back.

The dragon roared so loud Aziraphale almost took his hands off the sword to cover his ears. But he didn’t dare. Instead, he began shoving it deeper into the dragon’s back until Hastur was staggering backward. Aziraphale leapt back then, watching as the beast writhed around in pain. He threw a glance in Crowley’s direction then. The red dragon was breathing hard and there was blood dripping from some unidentified wound, but otherwise he seemed alright.

Then, Hastur’s roars began to sound strangled and the dragon collapsed with one final sigh.

Aziraphale sucked in a shaky breath, and when he looked to Crowley again, the knight had already turned back into a human.

“Is that it, then?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and gave the prince a wry smile. “I think it is. You did it, angel.”

* * *

Crowley headed to Aziraphale’s room very early one morning. It had been a week since Hastur had been defeated, and the two were closer than ever. Although Aziraphale was busy with matters of the kingdom, Crowley hardly ever left his side. Crowley had even begun having to sleep in separate rooms but beyond the fact that it simply wasn’t proper, if the commoners found out that Aziraphale had relations with a known dragonborn, they would be in an uproar. Even if said dragonborn had helped save the kingdom.

When Crowley opened the door, he’d expected Aziraphale to be asleep still, but instead he found the king pacing his chambers.

“Aziraphale…?” Crowley asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

“Oh! Crowley, I’m glad you’re here,” Aziraphale exclaimed, waving the knight in. “I need to speak with you.”

Crowley stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Yes?”

“I was in the library reading the prophecy,” Aziraphale began.

“All night?” Crowley asked incredulously, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. His king did indeed enjoy time in the library. “Angel, the prophecy’s been fulfilled.”

“See, that’s what’s been bothering me,” Aziraphale said. “ _Is_ it fulfilled? The fairy and human realms haven’t been united—”

“Which you’ve been working on,” Crowley pointed out. Indeed, Aziraphale had been in talks with the fairy leaders about lifting the banishment of fairies.

“—but the prophecy is very clear about one thing: a dragonborn will take the throne.”

“Yes, but we killed him so that wouldn’t happen,” Crowley said.

“Or maybe not,” Aziraphale corrected. “There’s still one dragonborn left.”

Crowley hesitated a long moment while he thought this through, trying to see where Aziraphale was going. “Yes but I would never take the throne from you.”

Aziraphale was already shaking his head. “No, don’t you _see_? It never says _how_ the dragonborn takes the throne, and it certainly doesn’t imply that it’s taken by force.”

“Then how…?” Crowley asked, still not fully understanding, but getting the distinct feeling that somewhere in his brain he did understand.

Aziraphale walked forward very slowly and grasped Crowley’s hands. “Sir Anthony J. Crowley…will you marry me?”

Crowley’s lips parted but otherwise he was frozen in shock. Whatever he’d been expecting from this conversation, this hadn’t been it. Yes, he’d loved Aziraphale nearly all his life, and of course he’d fantasized about marrying him, but never once had he even entertained the possibility that it could actually happen.

“It doesn’t have to be soon,” Aziraphale continued frantically. “It could even be years before the people are open enough to accept you as their potential king. But it makes perfect sense politically and to fulfill the prophecy. And besides that, my dear, I love you so much that I—”

It was that—the _my dear_ that finally snapped Crowley out of his shock enough that he finally leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale mid-sentence.

“ _Yes_ , my angel, I will marry you,” Crowley breathed, immensely enjoying the look of delight in his king’s beautiful blue eyes.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to capture Crowley’s lips in his own, melting into Crowley’s every touch. Despite their having been together nearly every moment of every day, there had been far too many things to take care of, and this was the first time they’d been intimate in a week. Crowley, for one, was very much _not_ about to let this moment go to waste. He began trailing kisses down Aziraphale’s neck, taking pleasure in the way that it caused Aziraphale to shiver.

Too much pleasure.

Remembering what happened the last time he’d gotten carried away with Aziraphale, Crowley tried casually pulling his hands back and away from any soft areas should his fingers turn into claws. Aziraphale immediately noticed and quickly grabbed Crowley’s wrist, pulling his hands back exactly where they’d been before. They locked eyes, and Crowley saw his lust mirrored in Aziraphale’s eyes, but more importantly, the absolute trust the king had in him.

Aziraphale reached up and pulled Crowley into another kiss before whispering, “I love you my dear, dear Crowley.”

It was too much. Crowley used his newly formed claws to rip Aziraphale’s tunic off his chest before gently but firmly pushing him towards the bed. Aziraphale let out a delighted gasp at Crowley’s sudden change in pace but wasted no time in tugging down the knight’s waistline in kind.

Despite the initial voraciousness, the sex was slow and delicate. Neither had any experience with this before and they wanted to enjoy every moment. Crowley, for his part, wanted to drink in every inch of Aziraphale, wanted to enjoy his prince’s every movement, every breath, every sound. Aziraphale gave no indication that he felt any different.

They were a long way from a happily ever after. There would be more politics to sort out, many meetings with leaders of the fairy realm, and Aziraphale would be a busy new king. But in these moments, they didn’t care about any of it. All they knew was that they had each other, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to everyone who's been commenting and to those who will comment in the future. I read every single one and it makes my day every time :)


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